


A Court of Wine and Ghastliness

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, F/F, F/M, Fire, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fill, Short, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, browse at your leisure folks, too much to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: A collection of all my prompt fills for 'drunkharryanswers', i.e. where the rules are:1) Quantity over quality2) The filthier the tastier3) The gayer, the gooder (which becomes a word once enough wine in imbibed)See the First Chapter for the index page.





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

> I am... sorry. If you want to burn me at the stake, you can do so on my tumblr @squaddreamcourt

**Index**

 

 **1.** Index

 **2.** Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel

 **3.** Cazriel

 **4.** Nesta x Cassian x Azriel

 **5.** Feycien

 **6.** Feyrhycien

 **7.** Mesta

 **8.** Elain x Lucien x Azriel

 **9.** Mesta (kink headcanons)

 **10**. Mor x Elain, Elain x Amren

 **11.** Rhycien

 **12.** Mor x Helion x Cassian x Azriel

 **13.** Mor x Elain

 **14.** Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel

 **15.** Azriel x Amren

 **16.** Nessian

 **17.** Feyrhycien

 **18.** Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel

 **19.** Elriel

 **20.** Feyrhycien (+tentacles)


	2. The Claiming of A God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** rhys x cassian x azriel younger era, you know, when they only wanted to "fuck and fight"

They tumble into the cabin bloody and exhausted, yet on high alert from lingering adrenaline. The blood rites of Illyrian warriors will do that to you; They’d been stuck in those damned mountains a week clawing and brawling and slaughtering for their lives, and now that’s over and they’re  _men_ , it’s hard not to feel ecstatic, near dissociation they’re so high and buzzing and tired on it. Their bodies are new. Born again.

They are fledglings no more. They are  _warriors._

And Cassian and Azriel, loyal courtiers that they are, killed their way across a mountain to find their high lord - hell, Azriel lost half his possessions in the process, Cassian all his dignity. But in the end they found him, bloodied and grinning from the power thrumming through his own muscles, pulsating in the very calcium of his bones. 

He’s never looked so beautiful.

Stumbling into that cabin, they want their reward. They fought for that beauty. They want to honor it.

And their god is more than happy to be worshipped.

He helps as they strip him of his leathers, rips himself naked only to laugh hoarsely as between them they pin him up against a wall and kiss him breathless. Bend him over a table, taking turns to kiss his ass, his thighs, the insides and the outsides and the in betweens. The bed is an after thought as they realise they both want him here and now and there’s no patience for waiting. 

They throw him onto sheets, claim his mouth, his arse, all in unison - fuck those pretty boy lips bloody as the other conjures gasps from him by their treatment of his bruising skin, their markings merging with the damage of unwanted others. 

That night, he is  _their_  High Lord. And as always, they are eternally his. 


	3. Maritime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : i want cazriel domestic fluff plesewe!

It’s been two hundred years since the last time they saw battle. Two hundred years since they banished the evil from across the sea. Even longer since the wall came crumbling down and they fought within an inch of their life to stop the humans and the fae from destroying one another. 

They did not notice peace setting in. It started softly, in morning kisses where they did not have to abandon the touch of one another for morning meetings of strategy and war. It started in evenings where Azriel did not have to go to torture their enemies late into the night.

Perhaps they first noticed it when their dates became nights in of Cassian cooking increasingly experimental dinners, instead of pounding one another into the ground of the training rooms. Or perhaps it dawned upon them when instead of fearing the light of dawn, they slept in long past noon, entangled in the other’s arms and ankles, just breathing in the other’s scent.

They both are grateful for the peace. Cassian more so than ever. He is not blind to the way Azriel no longer flinches from the slightest touch, be it friend of foe. Though he never says anything, he notices how those renegade shadows of his no longer bind his own wrists, nor simmer by his back, but trail over to trace the lines of his own thighs, to hug his tummy, to kiss the backs of his knuckles, unconscious tenderness that makes him smile in the middle of the night at 2am when for once, Azriel sleeps the whole night through in his arms.

And though he has never been one for speaking on such matters, Azriel is infinitely glad for the times of peace too. He couldn’t care less about the comfort it affords him, but he sees it in his mate and that is more than he could ask for. It lies in the moment he undresses him to find all his scars fully healed, his skin no longer bruised by night after night of beating down their enemies. He sees it in the softening of a body once made of naught but muscles and stitches and purple-black markings, now clear and healed and softening at the hands and stomach from a new life of kisses and romantic dinners. 

It’s not a life they ever expected, but one they settled into nonetheless.

One night, after Dawn Court cuisine cooked by Cassian himself and more wine than perhaps is wise on a work duty night, they stumble up to bed amongst murmurs and warm kisses. Azriel straddles his firm lap, nestles against that stomach that speaks of the domestic, of finally, _finally_ , contentedness. He kisses that brave forehead, those laughing lips. “Marry me,” he asks, as he has been dreaming every night for months now.

And Cassian, looking back, meeting his gaze in the way they know where the other has thinking, still says aloud, “Yes.”


	4. I Don't Want Kindness Just Give Me Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : Okay, fluffy... Okay here's one: Cassian x Nesta x Azriel morning post-coital cuddles

Nesta wakens to only one pair of arms. They are the slender, tight arms of Azriel, marked with whorls of scars of burns that he has spent many nights half-drunk telling them about, whilst they stroke his hair and wrists and kiss him, telling him he is worthwhile. That he is okay- more than okay. He is theirs, and he is brilliant. 

She would die for him. She never thought she’d die for anyone, wrapped up in her own cold hatred for the world and the sole purpose of protecting Elain. But now Elain lies in the arm of a creature with more years to her name than perhaps the entire world, and she needs no more protecting. So Nesta was free to unknot the tangled mess that was her heart, and somehow, it fell into the hands of two Illyrians built of years of winters and fires for smiles. 

“Morning,” she murmurs to a dozing Az, whose slender eyes are marred by shadows are they always are, but he smiles. Kisses her. Wraps her in and nuzzles into her neck, rich in lipped affections. 

“Morning. Where’s-?” They glance about for the third of their party, but he is absent. 

It’s too cold beyond the warmth of snuggles and blankets, but they both miss his presence keenly. He is huge limbs and warmth incarnate; where they always seem cold in skin in comparison, he seems to radiate heat like a furnace made flesh, backed up by sunshine smiles and words that dig deep into their stomachs. 

“I want my Cass,” Nesta mutters. “Where’s that asshole gone?”

“I’ll find him for you,” Az promises with a kiss to the forhead, a slinking from the bedsheets. He shivers, but perseveres. Vanishing from the bedroom, he leaves her to stare at ceilings and daydream about last night, the heat of kisses, kisses deep, deep down between her legs.

When they return, they do so with a swirl of cinnamon in their wake. “Awhh, did my darlings miss me?” Cassian croons, tugging Azriel back into bed with him as he scoots up next to Nesta with a kiss atop the forehead. “I’m making pancakes.”

“You and your bloody cooking.”

“Blueberry pancakes, with cinnamon and nutmeg. And yogurt and fruit, and fresh juice, squeezed this morning.” 

“Not as good as you,” Nesta mumbles, kissing his forearm, still half asleep, though tempted by her watering mouth. Smirking, Cassian dips to peck her forehead. 

“I love you, flatterer.” Stroking fingers through her bedhead, he glances back at Azriel, dark eyes and morning watching. Smiles. “The both of you. Now come on; Breakfast’s ready.”


	5. A Faster Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : OH WAIT i have another one too: feycien...just anything feycien? Like secret affair behind tamtams back because I am not gonna lie I am trash for those two in a romantic relationship

Something crashes into the ceiling above them; Tamlin, no doubt. No doubt he has heard of how Rhysand has received official sanction to whisk Feyre away to his court from the rest of the Kingdom. How they heard the stories. How even Beron was persuaded to agree, when Lucien threatened to leak tales of what he’d witnessed when he’d played the diligent son. 

They’re going to be safe. They’re going to be free of  _here_. Feyre glances up from where they’re nestled together, her arms around his shoulders, looks at the chips of stone drifting from the ceiling. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” she says softly. “I can’t wait until we don’t have to hide in basements, in cellars. I can’t wait until I can kiss you in the sun.”

“You manage quite a lot without that. I’ve got to say, your display with Ianthe and the ceremony? It was tempting to make use of being on my knees…” Lucien mumurs, soft voice devolving into a purr that is new to him. Alien. She inspires it in him, the curling of his tongue. The images of their bodies entwined together on the floors of the Night Court’s palace. 

She came back to him from their singing songs of praise. Of how freedom did exist, simmering behind the borders of Velaris. She’d come back, and called him to return with her. 

And now they’d go.  _Now, they could be free_.


	6. Three Girls One Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : ...feyrhycien but waIT with fem!rhys and fem!lucien. Smutty or fluffy?? Or both? Whatever takes ya fancy. thank u for this concept btw becos it has taken over my brain

Lucian has never felt this much in her life. Never this intensely, this all at once, this fuck I can’t breathe how can one body experience this much sensation in the space it takes me to arch, to gasp, to disintegrate beneath their touch. 

It’s the best dismantling she’s ever had. 

Rhys, the kind of gold star dyke who’s fucked every girl from here to sundown, has that legendary tongue of hers betwixt her thighs. It’s clever and speaks so much shit by daylight, but beneath covers it’s more than just words and comebacks. It digs deep into her insides and shivers her nerves to nervous wrecks. Clenches her thighs, her toes, without her permission. Sows hisses to her throat that birth to fruition when her thumb rubs her clit. 

This is a woman who knows what she is doing.

And there is Feyre, kind-faced Feyre, looking down at her and smirking. “So glad you could finally join us, m’lady,” her High Lady - majesty, royalty, goddess -croons, tender touch upon her cheek. Her tone is kind but there’s such devilishness upon her face that Lucian knows she’ll die by those soft hands tonight, a thousand deaths punctuated by groans that shake the kingdom. “We’ve been waiting.”

And so they have. Lucian has kept to libraries and courts and populated corridors, all in hopes of avoiding these two hunters. These women, with smiles that leave her flushed and wet between her thighs. These High Ladies who could command the sway of her flesh as easy as they do a kingdom. She always knew a moment left alone before them would be her undoing.

And now she is a knot unraveled between them, and relishes it every moment as they steal her breath from her hot gasping body. 


	7. Ladies Night At Rita's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : oh yes, i wanted a fic but headcanons are always good ^^ now, mor x nesta first sexual encounter, gentle smut please and thank you :)

They’re in Rita’s and there are an awful lot of strangers kissing. Female strangers to be specific. 

“I think,” Nesta says, sipping her drink. “We might be in a bar for… women inclined towards women.” 

Raising her eyebrows, Morrigan looks up from the neon pink cocktail she is stirring and glances about, cheeks burning to match the colour of her drink. “Ah, yes.” She stirs her drink faster. “Rita’s is… Rita likes women. The owner. They have nights for- I didn’t realise tonight was-”

“I’m not complaining,” Nesta tells her wine as she downs it. “But I thought it might- unsettle you.”

“Unsettle me?” Mor asks. “Why?”

“Well. From what I’ve heard of fae-”

“It varies,” Mor answers quickly. “Where I grew up, it’d be punishable by death or torture. Here, in Velaris… Love is love.” She smiles a little to herself. “I-I think it’s sweet.” 

Gesturing for another glass, Nesta surveys her. “It’s a relief.” She thanks the bartender for her fresh serving, swirling it with a curling of the wrist. “Back home, things were similar to your Nightmare court. These sorts of things had to be done in private… It’s nice to know I don’t have to be that way here.” She looks at her quite carefully. “Did you bring me here on purpose?”

Cheeks burning all the deeper, Mor shakes her head in honesty. “I didn’t- They must have changed the night. But- if I had… would you have minded?” She looks up through her lashes at the other, at those severe cheekbones, eyes of lightning. 

“No,” Nesta answers. “But I would at least have expected you to ask me to dance.”

An hour later, after grinding on the dance floor and kisses all down their ears, they tumble into the down house tipsy and giggling. Nesta doesn’t remember laughing this much in ages, feeling this released from tension for years. She’s never been able to kiss a girl in public. Never been able to bask in the beauty of a woman without fearing condemnation. 

Now, she runs her hands over a waist, firm as a warrior’s, but with the curves of a woman. A woman warrior; A concept she’d never known before. One she does not desire for herself, but admires in the other. How she can wield word and blade as good as any other. How she is so warm and filled with laughter, but can bring others to their knees. 

She drops to hers once gowns and garments are removed. Slips her kisses beneath the sheer material of Morrigan’s slip. Tender trails up her thighs. Finds clit and cunt and heat; lingers with tongue, a deepening of kisses that slide in, taste salt and something almost sweet but also bitter, a taste she’s never known free of fear before. 

A kind of love she could see herself giving into.


	8. Sandmistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** helloooo drunk harry! i ended up looking at your fic the sandwoman again tonight, (instead of homework lol) so if you feel up for it write something about polyamorous elain/lucien/azriel. It can be smut or fluff or anything really, just so long as it has the OT3 :P

Elain sits enthroned upon an armchair, watching. 

She’d expected the both of them to be hesitant, reluctant, for her visions of this event have been cloudy all week. Yet lips upon lips before her show no nervousness, no reluctance. They speak without words of a loving. A loving she knows is lavished in waterfalls upon her, but now pours into one another. 

She watches on as Lucien straddles Azriel’s bare lap, grinds against his hardening erection. Both have always been so reserved by daylight, so uptight and cautious, but in shadows and before her gaze, they devolve into hunger. He delves into those lips like he might drown in them, like he could kiss  _her_  through him. And she can feel it; can feel that adoration. It stirs in her groin, in her clitoris. She knows how those lips feel, how it is to knot your fingers in his scarlet hair as Azriel does now. How decadent it is to pull him down upon you and let him worship at your body. 

Azriel she knows even better. They’ve spent more time together, though she might be mates with the man of crimson. She knows how he shies away from touch, but melts back moments later. How he whimpers at attention, how he arches up into prying touches because amongst it all, he’s  _sensitive._

Rising from the chair, she crosses to the bed. With an outstretched hand, she joins them. 


	9. Mesta Kink Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : mor x nesta kinks?

I just feel like Nesta has a thing about her neck. Like, she’s always buried in books, so whenever Morrigan comes home from working with Rhys and the court and dealing with the fallout from the fall of the Prythian wall, she wraps Nesta’s shoulders in her arms and dips to her neck. She bends down beneath her pinned up hair and makes use of that exposed neck, all unbuttoning kisses that speak of the heavy, straining days she’s had, all disintegrating to unimportance in her lover’s skin. And Nesta, who pretends to keep on reading, is  _weak_  to those kisses on her neck. In the mornings, she’ll stroke the blue-purple bruises of those hickies when she catches sight of them in the mirror and smile, because she knows there’s only one woman, one person, who can mark up her like this, and she does so with her permission.

Mor has had 500+ years to work out her kinks, so she’s worked her way through everything and everything, even if it’s never really been with the right partner. she can be very kinky, thank you very much, from ropes to words to strap-ons (and oh, did Helion experience her love for strap-ons). Yet with Nesta, what she finds truly gets her turned on is something wholly unexpected…

She becomes intoxicated with wrists.

Nothing more, nothing less. A simple kiss upon the wrist from Nesta’s scathing mouth has her melting at the core. When they’re entangled in one another’s limbs and bedsheets and candlelight, fingers might be in her or on her or all about, but it is a slow tongue racking across the flickering pulse in her wrist that tips her over. A bite, and she’s in ribbons.


	10. The Gardener's Shears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : An elren vs morain fic where Amren and Mor are both in love with Elain. Do with this what you will

She’s grown flowers in both their gardens. 

Mor’s new house, one that resides at the base of the mountains and gets sunlight nearly all day round all year round, is now alive with lilies. Not just any lilies either, but tigerlilies, enormous heads of red and amber that smell strongly of heady intoxication. She spends her free afternoons in summer’s lazy heat lounging amongst them, watching those gigantic petals sway heavy in the breeze. She makes perfume of their scent, bathes in it. 

Best of all is watching Elain tend to them. The way she inspects each one with care, each flower precious. How she is careful and bordering on prudish in so much but here; Here, she digs deep into the dirt and nourishes the flowers not just with water and scraps of fruit, but with touch itself. How she talks to them as if it were people who are the strangers, not the flora. 

Yet another is granted this attention.

Amren’s house is but a flat, inhabiting the attic of a townhouse. She has no garden of her own. Yet she and Elain somehow developed a ritual, one of going down every other sunday to a river beyond the outskirts of Velaris. They wander over stones and dew-swept grass to find a clearing of beauty natural and untouched. Wildflowers grow aplenty, but for Elain that was not enough.

She asked Amren what flowers she liked the most. “Morrigan’s lilies are most beautiful. But tigers are all about show. I prefer Lilies of the valley. They are as beautiful as you.” Without shame, she’d touched Elain’s cheek. “And as deadly as I.” 

Beside the river where no one ever goes, Elain cultivates the small, delicate white flowers that were requested. When they bloom, Amren comes to spend spring amongst them, stroking them as if they were pets. She brings scissors and tends them herself, cutting them off one by one to encourage new growth, and bring them back to her home. 

Morrigan sits in the house of wind, watching as she hands her a bouquet of flowers as beautiful and demure as snowdrops. “To kill your enemies with,” Amren tells the flowergirl, who watches her with eyes of does, but smiles of far more danger. “As I shall always do for you.”

She, the tiny ancient one, takes that girl of flowers and growth and love, catches her hand in hers, and kisses it gentle on the palm. She is the weapon on the gardener, to fend of all who might threaten the beautiful gardens she has grown here. 

And Elain, a pair of shears in hand, accepts her offered service with a kiss and smiles aplenty. 


	11. Little Boys Who Play With Fire Get Their Fingers Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : rhycien smut where lucien uses his fire powers in a kinky way¿ i don't know i just want him to use his fire during sex pls

Rhysand already had his wrists and arms tied, bound behind his back so tight even he couldn’t pull them undone, so he figured his lover was done with tricks for the night. However, as those quick lips lavished his neck, dipped down his spine to kiss tender at the base of his wings, something…  _else_  licked across his skin. Something hot. 

Something too hot. 

At first he thinks it might be wonton fingertips exploring the small of his back. Yet there Lucien’s hands are, one stroking through his sweat-drenched hair, the other teasing light and reserved across his cock, thumb plying the head. “You grow an extra pair of hands or something?” Rhys pants, because it is hard to make deductions when someone’s sharp teeth are teasing that sensitive spot at the base of your wings. 

Lucien does not reply- instead he feels the smirk of his plush lips against his wings, a grin that bears teeth wide, teeth that nip at that exact spot where flesh turns to wing. He thinks he might be going made with the arousal that spot can induce in him, when there it is again, a curl of searing heat dancing up his spine. 

Hissing through teeth, he jerks his head around to spot- 

fire. 

“You  _bastard_ ,” he curses with a grin, stomach tightening to ruins when Lucien, tongue coating up the bones of his wings, glanced up at him and there it comes again, flame slinking up his spine. “That cheati-” he doesn’t get to finish, because that hand upon his cock is squeezing tight and all he can do is moan. Pain spikes through the pleasure, embers glittering across his abdomen. Sparks spatter down between his thighs, making the fireworks in his head quite literal before his eyes. 

“Think you can handle the heat?” Lucien drawls, returning to nuzzle his ear, which with each kiss sear with heat. There never was a more sardonic smile, more wicked a look. 

But Rhysand is the High Lord of Night after all.

He was born to play with fire.

“Always,” he tells his mate, and bound as he is, he leans back and steals a kiss. 


	12. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** I'm gonna go for the ultimates of helion x cassian x azriel x mor if you fancy because that part in the books was not. addressed. enough. p.s. ur fic got a 10 from len from me today alright imma piss off now

Helion had more than a good reason for seeking after the company of Cassian, Azriel, and The Morrigan all in one night; He had a memory. 

It fell upon the dawn of Sunrise, the summer solstice celebrate in The Day Court at the opposite time of year as starfall. Throughout it, burst of sunspots and solar flares would shoot across the sky, turning the world a blinding cascade of reds and golds. Whilst it was the norm for Helion to preside over the festivities, that day, he had other occupations. Other occupants, so to speak. 

A Cassian turned tipsy by Day Wine brewed from his own gardens snickered beneath him, cheeks a rosy glowing, even without the sunny effects of the wine. Whilst Helion trailed kiss down his abdomen, licked tongue across his hardened cock, a fond-faced Azriel nestled his head upon his lap, stroking through the other Illyrian’s dark curls. 

Morrigan, as strong and unreadable as ever, held her arms wrapped around Helion’s waist, sat up watching the way his tongue through the General to a mess of gasps and wantings. It was the same as always: no matter the military rank, the prejudices, the pride, all fell before him. It was a skill he loved to use all too well. 

“He sounds so needy,” she murmurs in his ear, laughing softly at the way their tough, seasoned warrior is crimson and clinging onto bedsheets. Even stoic Azriel is smirking, watching his frequent lover dissolve to sweet nothings in his lap. “Make him beg, won’t you?”

“Well, Cassian? Will you give the lady what she wants?” Helion asks, slicking the tip of his tongue up to the head of his cock, one last chaste lick before he dips to nuzzles navel, groin. “Else I’ll spend my time with her.”

“No, please-” Cassian pants, delirious on arousal, staring up at his Illyrian lover without quite seeing, just dragging him down to capture his lips and seek some relief from the frustration. “I can’t- I need you to- Please. _Please_.”

“Well, Mor?”

“Hmm. I suppose that will do,” she muses, watching that warrior-king made begging pleader. A lick, a sucking of the lips, and Helion destroys him all the further, dragging him down into the depths of curses and expletives. Warrior he may be, but it is not hard to make him come. 


	13. The Taste of Liquor On Her Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : Mor x elain smut after getting drunk together?

She is only on her second beer, but the room is already spinning. “What…” Elain says with a frown. “Is happening?” Beside her, the warm, soft body of Morrigan shakes with laughter. 

“You’re getting drunk, Elain. Which is typically what happens when you ingest alcohol.” 

Holding out a hand for inspection, Elain squints at the fuzzy outlines of her fingers, the way the room glows. “Hmm.” She hums, unable to keep her balance as she studies, slumping sideways onto Morrigan’s close shoulders, ears brushing against her thick blonde hair. “It feels strange.” 

“Good strange?” Mor asks quietly, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. Good strange.”

“I’m glad,” Mor murmurs, looking down at her as she glances up, as her eyes catch on those plush lips and think how warm they must be too, of how this is all too warm and close and comforting, in a way she does not want to leave, though she wishes it were clearer, that she could grip the moment with more clarity. It seems to important to treat with such clumsy mental hands. 

“I’m glad I could be here with you,” Mor continues, leaning closer. Bringing those sculpted lips closer. No, sculpted is wrong, for they are curved and gentle and speak nothing of sculptures. They are bodies of flesh and tenderness and feeling that Elain has never been privy to. A tenderness she has craved for all to long.

In the half light of the television, she leans in and kisses her. For one short moment, all the world is perfect, and those lips are hers to tender.

“Elain? You- You sure about that?” Mor asks, slurring her words a little from the third glass of wine she is nursing. Elain does not answer with words, but with murmurs and hums and a pulling of limbs against bodies that brings her safe into the other’s lap. 

“Kiss me,” she mumbles, eyelids heavy, heart beating too fast. “Please.”


	14. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : abo, az is alpha, rhys beta and cass omega (feel free to change that) ;)

The scent perforated the entire Night Court so badly they had to keep the doors to the mountain palace barred, regardless of the thousands of steps that secluded from them the rest of Velaris. Not that it was Cassian’s fault, but he wasn’t exactly being helpful about it.

Ever since the heat had hit him, barreling unexpectedly with such force that they’d all scented it within an instance, he’d locked himself up within his rooms to pay company to his right hand. The heat was more intense than any he’d ever displayed before, leaving them listening to him spending the nights rutting against his bedsheets, as if they could somehow sate him. 

They all know what will end it, and eventually, patience wears thing. Rhysand kicks down the door. 

Cassian is sprawled naked upon his bed, looking at the pair of them, grinning. “Finally,” he breathes, scooping down into the mattress. “Hurry up you morons, and  _fuck me_.” 

Leaving Rhys staring in the doorway, transfixed by the wave of hot, cloistered scent loosed by the open door, Az stalks over to his lover with a kind of mocking fury. “Couldn’t you have fucking said something?” He growls, grasping Cassian by the ankle and yanking him down, leaving him groaning from that chaste touch alone. 

“More fun this way,” he grunts back, hand back against that rock hard cock of his. The scent of the Omega in heat is enough to make him lose their heads, but for him, they try to keep their facilities about them. Note the word ‘try’. 

Az has him pinned against the bed in seconds, teeth roving across his legs, clawing at his ass to get at that sweet, wet scent he can’t quite get enough of. Rhysand is quick to join, seizing Cass’s face in his hands to drown in his whore mouth, the red chapped crimson of his lips from where he has bitten them so much from masturbating. 

“Tonight, you bastard,” he growls. “You’re ours.


	15. Blood Stained Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : why do i have this weird idea that azriel might have been introduced to bdsm by amren? like she made him his slave or something and now that he "graduated" he is a dom but sometimes he goes back to her bc he still feels like she owns him. anyway, this was for the smutty prompts, have a lovely day by the way (though it isnt an actual ship we can call it amriel i guess)

He tied her wrists to a smirk. “Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?” He asks in a growl. “It’s ruining the mood.”

“But look at you. I’ve trained you so well.” Amren coos back, as if he is a child, as if he does not have her tied and bound to a bed and naked before him. “The fact that you think you can dominate  _me_  is, quite frankly, adorable. Even Varian isn’t that bold.”

“I’m no Summer Court darling,” Azriel mutters back, tightening, tightening, until her arms are taut behind her, displaying her flat chest convex before him. 

“No,” Amren agrees. “You are not.”

He dips to kiss her, to claim those mocking lips, but she catches him by the neck. Latches on. Sinks. Tears.

Curses spill from his lips as she rips skin, draws blood, leaves a hot, dripping sensation pooling down upon his collarbone. A yank on the ropes brings her gasping, pulled beyond the limit of mere bondage as her limbs sing for mercy. “Too gentle to play rough now, are we? You’re out of shape,” she murmurs, right against his ear, sharp teeth tugging against his lobe. Dragging. Sending winces through his muscles, jaw, face. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” he shoots back, touching to fingers to the slice across his neck. “This is more than visible.”

“Perhaps that’s what I want,” she replies, cool eyes, silver eyes, watching eyes. “Let Rhysand know where his spymaster really spends his night. In between the legs of his pet monster.” 

Azriel looks back at her, shadows curling. “And that,” he says. “Is exactly where we match.”


	16. Disco Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : Nessian, back of a car. May or may not just start using random shit they find in it and you cant forget the good old gear stick lolllllllllllllllll

He grabs her by the hair, she seizes him by the mouth. “Fuck off,” she tells him, right as she buries his lips in his and shoves him back against the leather of the seats. The only light is that of the movie playing at the drive-in, reflecting back off of the chrome of the car fixings, the glint like the eyes of animals on the road bearing witness to their sin. 

He’s too caught up in undressing her to answer, ripping shirt buttons open despite their cost, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Swearing. She laughs at his incompetence. “All that talk of women. Just talk, huh?” She jeers as he is clumsy with those fingers of his, those fingers she’s fantasized about for too, too many nights. 

“Because you’ve claimed so many men.”

“More than you’d think, asshole.”

With rough limbs he flips them, cages her against seat-belts sticking into the small of her back. She cusses, tells him he’s a useless idiot. Undoes the buckle of his belt, the zips upon his trousers. His lips taste like blood from where she bit them, salt from the popcorn he bought and did not share. Sweet from the way she fed him strawberry laces and shoved them too deep to make him gag, out of petty spite that only served to make him harder. 

The brake digs in against her spine. All she can see is that metal glint, the soft top of the roof disappointing. The glow of the dials, the flashing of the indicator his idiotic elbow knocked. Someone is wrapping their knuckles against the window, but they won’t roll the windows down. She gasping, his fingers deep inside of her. 


	17. A Little Show of Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : AM I LATE FOR DRUNK HARRY? IT HAS BEEN SO LONG MY FRIEND. Okay sooooooo. Feyrhycien. Feyre as dom. I want her to order them around in manners of filthy pleasure. Maybe her ordering Lucien to pleasure Rhys and then her telling them what she wants them to do.

Feyre took up residence in a hard-backed chair, and from there, she would rule the night.

Rhys lay sprawled upon a bed, as at ease as ever, but the new companion held nerves enough for the both of them. Sticking to the wall, he rubbed his hands together and looked about as if the trap he suspected might be sighted by the eye. Not that Feyre could play him; he was a fox well accustomed to trappings. But she was not Tamlin, nor was Rhysand.

They were a new breed of beast entirely.

“Oh the bed, Lucien,” she instructed him in soft, easy tones, though sin poured from her lashes in filthy looks. Already she could picture the both of them naked, preforming just for her. It was an image hard not to get drunk upon. 

With marked caution, he complied, easing onto sheets and mattress with a wary glance at Rhys. Good thing her mate had always been so skilled in the decorum of the bedroom, taking him by the wrist and pulling him close for long, soft kisses, ones that unwind him from the knots within his shoulders down to the growing tension in his groin. He lies him flat across the bed, and Feyre can see it all. 

“Oh no, that won’t do. We’ve agreed to take him in, after all. Maybe Lucien, you should find some way to say thank you?” She suggests, reclining back against the slab of wood behind her. One hand finds her clit, quite content to stimulate what her eyes cannot find. 

Glancing over at her, Lucien hesitates before that quick, clever smirk she knows so well finds its way back home. He is fast as lightning to flip them, pinning Rhys beneath him with an ‘oofh’ from the other. The complaint doesn’t last long, though, then those crimson autumn lips kiss down nipple and navel a like so follow his sinking to his knees before the bedspread, lips finding a cock quick to harden beneath their touch. 

She, watching on with the diligence of a truly loyal student, does not bother to hide her moans as Rhysand echoes her, done away with by clever tongues, sliding lips that coax him harder still. Lucien’s past comes through quite obvious, his skill upon Rhys’s cock impressing even her, who knows its ins and outs, what gets him moaning all the louder. He has him orgasming in minutes. 


	18. Brothers in Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt** : Frat-mates Rhy/Az/Cass

Drunk out of their minds, Cass, Rhys, and Az all look around at their unconscious fraternity brethren, who lie passed out on various sofas, floors, tables, and sorority girls. “Fuckin’ light weights,” Cass mutters into his millionth beer, beyond plastered but trying to fight off a monster hangover by staying drunk until a week long sleep will claim him and let it all pass him by.

“Tell me about it,” Rhys seconds, nudging a comatose Tamlin with his toe. “Shithead excuse for hitting on girls.” 

“Urgh,” Az mumbles from where he is still half-sober on the armchair, trying to read amongst all the partying, which now has died down to a minumum. “Straight people.”

The other two look at him. Midway through a sentence, he looks up, and realises what he has said. His surprise soon distills into distain. “Oh please, like you two are so heterosexual?”

Silence lingers, before Cassian breaks out into a cackle. “Rumbled. Bi as  _fuuuuck_. I’d do both your asses if you so much as asked.”

“For real? I’ve always wanted to try again, ever since this one redhead,” Rhys echoes, looking between them.

Moments later they are up in Cassian’s bedroom, stripping one another with sloppy, clumsy fever marred by alcohol. It does the job, however all thumbs they may be, and soon they’re piling onto a bed too small for their enormous muscled bodies and laughing between them all. 

“Thank fuck. Living with you two when you’re both so fucking hot has been  _hell_ ,” Cassian snarls, albeit playfully, tugging off Az’s underwear as the smallest of them wriggles back against the bed. 

“You gonna stop talking and start fucking, yeah?” Az just snaps back at him, apparently bored with his surprise at the turn of events. 

Good thing for him Cass and Rhysand are more than attentive. Cass lays claim to his ass, whilst Rhysand shoves his dick in his mouth, and positions himself so that Az might return the favour, which he is all to happy to do. Thank god for the rest of the asswipes in this house being asleep, because christ are they  _loud_. It reaches the point where plaster is dropping down off of the ceiling in flakes and Azriel has to have a pillow shoved in his face to stop him screaming. 

Just another night in the fraternity, really. 


	19. Last Night in His Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** Kinky elriel PLEASE

She curled into the cold of his fingers, the way he shut down the flow of her blood with those tips that encased her neck. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t breathe, that she couldn’t feel her own hands, her own feet anymore. All that mattered what that she gave him what he sat here seeking. 

Trapped within the metal confines of a car, he forced her back atop the gearstick, sinking her down upon it as if that could be enough to satisfy her. Even as she gasped for air he tightened his grip, eyes cold, dark, seeking something within the stitches of her skin that they both knew he would never find, and yet they would keep digging. 

Her sisters would never know. His friends, his brethren, even those he’d served with and called ‘brother’, they’d never guess a second of what passed between them. Every second he knotted his strong hands within the dark curls of her hair, she knew this was a moment reserved just for them. Though she might never content him as he ran from the thunder clouds mapping out his brain, she would always have this. The sight of him dismantled beneath her flesh. And how she craved it all the more. 

Slamming her back against the crude plastic of the dashboard, he moved up, towards her. She slid back, head pinned against the windscreen, back arching to expose her ass as he rocks forwards and shoves into it. Oxygen deserted her. She feels only her own shaking muscles, the pain of him in him so raw and fast. She cannot breathe. 

She never can, around him. He is always so quick to consume her. 


	20. A Multi-Limbed Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** Okayokay uh here we go: feyrhycien except, suprise! Feyre can shapeshift some tentacles ( 

Lucien was only just adjusting to being brought into Feyre and Rhysand’s harem, so really, what Feyre did next was not fair on his delicate sensitivities. 

He was being a good, well-trained slut, going down on Rhysand as they both had asked him, when all of a sudden a something something… did something against his ass, a kind of brushing. He’d think it Feyre’s fingers were it not for the thickness, the  _wetness_. “What-?”

Releasing Rhys’s cock from his mouth, he glanced behind to discover… his- his eyes couldn’t quite process the sight at first. “You don’t like it?” Feyre crooned, sliding a tentacle up against his thighs. 

“Tamlin teach you that trick?” Rhys drawled from the other side, apparently quite used to this occurrence. 

“Please. Like he could be this creative.”

Looking between the two of them, Lucien could only blink and gape uselessly. It proved irrelevant, however, as the pair of them crawled atop of him and lavished his neck and chest in kisses, strange implements investigating his ass all the while. 


End file.
